Resilient
by andxrea
Summary: She did not belong in Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart, no longer was she daring, gone was her nerve and chivalry, and so set, Hermione Granger,Gryffindor, apart.
1. Prologue

**Prologue:**

She couldn't breathe. Her vision was blurring and it was almost as if she was seeing double. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to breathe in and out, to calm down. But the tightening in her throat heightened until she felt like all the air around her had disappeared.

This was it. She was going to fall unconscious and hit her head against the pavement, dead. Someone was going to find her and it wouldn't take a genius to recognize her. Even a child as young as six would know exactly who she was. She was on a Chocolate Frog Card; The Brightest Witch of her Age, One third of the Golden Trio, The Heroine of the Century.

They were going to find her dead body. It would be on The Prophet. Everyone was going to find out she was a liar. They were going to realize she didn't deserve to be seen as a role model, to be praised and have libraries named after her.

She was not a Gryffindor. She was weak. She couldn't breathe.

"Mummy?" a voice said. Small, chubby fingers wrapped around her wrist. Blue eyes, wide and perfectly innocent, peered up at her. His red hair was so striking, her vision cleared.

"Hugo, darling," she said, her voice wobbling.

"Why did we stop, mummy?" Hugo asked, his grip tightening on her wrist, as if scared of what was coming.

"Nothing, dear," she comforted, bending down to sweep him into her arms.

But her legs still felt like rubber and her arms weren't much different, so she stumbled slightly, until her back thankfully rested against a building's wall. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying and hoping for the last of her strength to return.

This wouldn't do. They were in Diagon Alley and if there was any place where someone would definitely recognize her, it was here. It wouldn't do for someone to find her unconscious, Hugo crying in distress. They would take her baby away. They would take away the last piece of Ron she had left.

A small hand pinched her cheek. "Mummy?"

Hermione Granger opened her eyes. Her son was looking at her with an expression that broke her heart. His eyes were wide open, lips pulled into a pout and she thought that he had never looked more like his father than he did right then.

"Where do you want to go next, mate?" she said, her tone excessively cheery. "Today's your day!"

"I get to pick?" Hugo asked, both hands grabbing clumps of her wild curls.

"Sure can," she said, pecking his nose.

"Can we go to Quali' Quiddish?"

Quality Quidditch was a good ten minute walk away from where they were and Hermione steeled herself, hoping the smile on her face did not falter. She could do it. She could do it, she could do it.

"Quality Quidditch here we go!" she said, pushing herself off the wall and taking a few cautionary steps.

They cut through the crowd, the crowd that occasionally turned to see if they had really seen her, to whisper and point at her presence. But Hermione did not pay them any heed. She did not smile or wave or nod, knowing fully well that if she did, it would become harder, harder than it already was to just be there.

Instead she walked, hoping nobody noticed the slight tremble in her step, as the axis of her world, the one thing her life revolved on, the reason she woke up in the morning, babbled about brooms and snitches.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Draco Malfoy jumped, in a manner that was completely undignified and shameful to his ancestors. He slammed his hand down on the blasted alarm, gripping it in his fist and fighting the urge to hurl the damned object across his office.

Blaise Zabini had gotten it for him, insisting that the irritating ringing was the only way Draco was ever going to take a break from work to eat.

He had protested, cursed his best friend and broke at least three of the bloody things, when it happened. An owl had been trying to get into his office, the slow window of his office that he had shut to keep out of the cold getting in it's way. Draco had stopped writing his tenth letter to the bank, pushed his chair away from his desk and stood.

That's when his world tilted before his eyes and he fell to the ground, unconscious. He had woken up in a hospital, Blaise looking haggard and slumped against a chair next to his bed.

"Blaise?" he had croaked. His throat felt like hell.

His friend had snapped awake, stared blankly at him before getting up to punch him square in the face. The next time he woke, his face ached and an police officer was standing next to his best friend.

"You stupid fuck," Blaise had said. "You couldn't even take two bloody minutes to stick a sandwich down your throat? You fucking-"

"Hey," the police officer had said, grasping unto Blaise's shoulder. "Calm down."

It had turned out Draco had fainted because he hadn't been eating. In a weak attempt to have something to say against the frowning doctor and Blaise glaring at him, he had said he been drinking whiskey and some crackers and that counted as food, right? Blaise had almost punched him again, save for that guard.

So Draco had ceded to have the alarm around, to put his best friend to peace and for his own sake. The bill from Queen Margaret's had made him feel like he was going to faint again.

The door of his office swung open so harshly that it banged agains the wall. Draco jumped slightly, flinching at the noise.

"Mr. Malfoy!" Blaise sang, stepping into his office, a brown paper bag in his arms.

"Merlin, Blaise," Draco said, running a hand down his wary expression. "Must you make so much noise?"

"Sorry about that, Gramps," he said, walking towards him to set a box of pasta and a bottle of juice on top of Draco's files.

"Oi!" Draco said, hurriedly raising the food and moving the papers away from the dangers of food stains. "This is how we're getting paid, Zabini Do you fancy starving on the streets?"

"I swear to Merlin, you're sounding more and more like my mother every day," Blaise said somberly. "On a brighter note, let's check out all the witches that went to that Ministry event yesterday."

Blaise pulled out a newspaper from his bag, flipped through it before he found the page and set the paper on Draco's desk.

"Have a look at the Greengrass sisters," Blaise said, pointing to a shot of the said sisters, both in silk dressing robes. Daphne Greengrass flipped her blond hair over her shoulder and Astoria winked suggestively at Draco.

"They look a million galleons, aye?" Blaise said, staring down at the sisters.

"What are they even doing in a Ministry event?" Draco asked.

Blaise shrugged. "Who knows? Publicity, probably. They _are_ very attention grabbing."

The Greengrasses were pure-blooded, but since they had remained neutral during the War, they weren't shunned away from the only world they knew. Not to mention, their fortune was still very much intact.

The same could not have been said for the Malfoy name. Lucius Malfoy's trial lasted half a year. Details of the trial had been on the front page of The Prophet almost every single day. Draco and Narcissa didn't leave the Manor throughout the whole thing.

Draco had been sure that his father was going to be sentenced to the Kiss. He had reached the grim conclusion lying on the ground, after nearly destroying their living room, scaring away all of the house elves and drowning himself drunk with whiskey.

But he was wrong. On December the twentieth, troops of Aurors had entered the Manor, taking everything that was associated with the Dark Arts. The house was almost bare when it was over. The artifacts and properties the Ministry had 'confiscated' in the Malfoy Manor added up to almost five million galleons. Five million galleons worth of Draco's ancestry taken away.

In return, Draco got his father back. Lucius Malfoy had been sentenced to life long house arrest.

It didn't take long for accusations to arise about how Lucius had paid off the Ministry to receive a lighter sentence. The accusation was so believable; even Draco himself believed it.

A mere two weeks after the release of Lucius' sentence, it was then publicly announced that his son, Draco Malfoy, was now formally taking over Malfoy Enterprise. An event was planned; one that took a very noticeable chunk out of what was left of the Malfoy fortune, to celebrate Draco inheriting the business. The expected guest count was 300. Not even five families arrived.

This negativity followed Draco into his career. The Enterprise lost more than half of it's shareholders, nobody was buying their products, nobody in the Wizarding World wanted anything to do with the Malfoy name.

A year after inheriting his father's life long work, Draco was close enough to declare bankruptcy. He was living off left overs and suits that had been sewed back together more times than he could count.

Then Blaise came into his office, no longer tolerating being told to go back to his desk to answer the phone that never rang, a wild expression on his face.

"So the Wizarding World wants nothing to do with us? Fine!" he bellowed. "Then we'll just leave the bloody fucking Wizarding World, then! Screw them all to hell!"

Draco had tried reasoning with him. Telling him that it was him they hated, his name they loathed. Blaise could still save himself and everyone would probably chalk it down to the fact that nobody could stand being near a Malfoy so long without wanting to curse themselves.

In the end, he saw no other choice. Two weeks after that, Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini had left the Wizarding World without a trace.

It was hard at first. They spent a good three months in a rundown motel in a state in America Blaise pronounced wrong for the whole duration of their stay, planning and thinking of their next step.

Those three months were worlds away from what Draco had been used to. Even the worst of times, he still never had to prepare his own food, or iron his own clothes. But in those three months, he learned how to use a microwave, memorized the route to the nearest laundry mat and come in contact with a Muggle without wincing. By the end of those three months, Draco had stopped carrying the beliefs his father instilled in him on Muggles. How could he, now that he had slept with a handful of them?

When they had finally figured out a plan that wasn't completely preposterous, they left Oregon. They had decided that they never wanted to be recognized again. They didn't want to have anything to do with people from their past life because they didn't want anything to do with them. So they went to the one place they knew not a single soul: Asia. Specifically, Hong Kong.

It was strange to work in the Muggle work at first, but at an increasing pace, the two men adapted. After all, business was business-Wizard or Muggle. After three years, they ran a business that did well, and they lived a life of comfort.

Of course, that didn't mean they didn't miss their old life. Every time Draco stopped by a 7-Eleven for a pack of mints, his eyes would glance over the rows of chocolates and he couldn't help but crave for a Chocolate Frog; even if it had Potter's face on it.

Sometimes, he would catch Blaise humming a song from the Weird Sisters, a glassy expression on his face. Blaise had told him that he had left because he was tired of being the son of the woman that notoriously seduced men into marriage only to kill them off later for their money. With his Death Eater parents, Draco could relate.

They had escaped the Wizarding World, and it had forgotten about them. But that didn't mean they had forgotten about it.

"What was the event about anyway?" Draco said, pushing the newspaper back towards his friend.

Blaise scanned the paper, eyes flitting around the spread.

"It says here…" Blaise said, folding the paper and bringing closer to his face, "that _the event was done to_ _commemorate the recent successes of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures_…bloody hell, what do you know."

"What?" Draco asked.

"It says that _the Head of the department, despite being known to barely showing up to such events, was present-_-"

"Good, he's beginning to do his job," Draco snorted.

"She," Blaise corrected. He continued to read the rest of the paper, only now with much more rapport and despite himself, Draco's interest peaked.

"Well?" Draco prompted.

But he ignored him, mumbling under his breath until he turned the page, and Blaise's eyebrows shot right up.

"Bloody hell," Blaise said, eyes widening, jaw slackening.

"For Merlin's sake," Draco hissed, snatching the paper from his best friend's hand. "Being all inconspicuous for no reason…what the hell's in here anyway?"

Draco scanned the paper, looking for whatever shocked Blaise so much.

_Though last night's events were in celebration of the whole of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, specific thanks was given to it's Head, who without her devoted efforts none of the Department's recent successes would be possible. See here is the Head of the Department herself, staying true to her Muggle roots, in a beautiful dress from Muggle brand, Chanel._

Draco flipped to the next page and his breath hitched. Her picture took up almost half the page. The white skirt pooled at her feet and the black top showed off her back that Draco could see in plain view, as she turned only her head to wave at him. The smile on her face was almost shy.

"Barely recognize her, yeah?" Blaise scoffed, collapsing into the chair across Draco's table. "She's sure grown. By the way, do you want to see that new film?"

His best friend's words were lost to him as he gaped at the caption at the picture of her waving at him with that blasted smile.

_Hermione Granger, Head of commemorated Department. _

"Things are sure going well for Granger," Draco said darkly, bitterness lacing his tone. "Oh, here's Saint Potter; I was just wondering when I would see _his_ spread on this blasted newspaper."

On the following page, a picture of Harry Potter had the Boy Who Lived nodding in acknowledgment, a charming smile on his face. At the bottom, there was another picture of him, now with Hermione Granger and Kingsley Shacklebolt. The Minister of Magic had his arms around both the war heroes, seeming to be laughing loudly at something Harry had said. Hermione was blushing.

"Are they dating?" Draco spat, furiously flipping to the next pages of the issue, only to find pictures and articles that were no longer to his interest. He tossed the paper on his table aggressively, making Blaise cock his eyebrow at him.

"Doesn't say," Blaise said, smoothly, choosing not to comment on his best friend's certainly, very _interesting_ change of mood.

"What's happened to Weasley?" Draco said, lifting the flaps of his lunchbox, stabbing pieces of pasta mercilessly. "Finally got rid of him, I see."

"Good question, actually," Blaise said, digging into his own lunch. "There isn't a single word on him, so maybe it's all under wraps."

"There hasn't been anything about him in the papers recently?" Draco asked, slightly surprised. Last he had heard, Ron Weasley was a successful Auror, his missions ending up in the front page of The Prophet, usually with him grinning carelessly.

"I just subscribed to The Prophet this year," Blaise shrugged. "It's a little expensive, sending newspapers halfway across the world daily. Couldn't afford it until recently."

"How did you do this anyway?" Draco asked, wincing at the taste of the Mango juice Blaise had gotten for him. His friend's exotic taste in juices did not extend to him. "Did you subscribe under your name?"

Blaise snorted. "Right. For your information, Mr. Malfoy sir, your paper is delivered by one Gregory Yeung."

"Gregory Yeung?" Draco repeated, almost choking on his juice. "You mean your doorman? You used your doorman's name as your alias?"

Blaise shrugged. "Better than anything I could think of beforehand, to be honest. All right, mate, I need to have a look at those bank statements."

Both men stood up, their heads switching gears. Draco brushed the nonexistent crumbs off his suit and handed the files stacked at the corner of his desk to him.

Blaise flipped open the first file, eyes scanning the contents, a small smile forming on his face.

"We're almost there, aren't we?" he said, grinning up at Draco. "Just a little bit more and we'll be debt free."

"I give it four months, tops," Draco said, a grin of his own setting on his features uncontrollably.

"Yeah," Blaise laughed, looking truly thrilled at the thought. "Right then, I'll be in my office."

His friend shut the door behind him with a slight snick and Draco sat back down on his chair, the smile on his face still intact as he picked up his pen to return to work. The Prophet was discarded on the floor, thoughts of Hermione Granger and the world he once belonged in thrust out of mind.

**A/N**: I based Hermione's dress on Emma Watson's dress to the Cannes Film Festival in 2013. Google it, if you're interested!


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Hermione Granger never understood the stereotype of the perfect man being a knight in shining armor who obviously fell in love with the damsel in distress. She figured, if the knight fell in love with the damsel while she looked distressed, it was kind of sadistic and weird.

Also, really, who looked good in distress? When she was in distress, she looked an absolute mess and she knew it. She'd always be a heap or curled up on the floor because her knees were wobbling and she would be sweating bullets, gasping for air and mumbling incoherent words. She didn't blame all the people who made a point of avoiding her when she was in distress.

But here he was; Justin Finch-Fletchley, crouching in front of her with her cheek in his palm and not staring, _gazing_ at her. He was so close-too close. Hermione scooted further into the wall, eyes wide and looking at Justin like he was crazy.

He had to be! Judging with what he just said!

"What?" she gasped.

_You're so beautiful._

"Sorry," Justin chuckled, running a hand through his hair with the hand that wasn't resting on her left shoulder. Weakly, Hermione raised a hand to push him away only to find her full strength not yet completely regained.

"I don't know what's gotten into me," he was saying, still slightly chuckling like he found himself hilarious. "But you really are pretty, you know. I always thought so when we were in Hogwarts. 'Course, I couldn't do anything, what with Ron-"

Oh that did it! Of course the creep had to mention Ron! Now she was back to trembling. _Block him out Hermione…block him out… Merlin's beard, for your own sake, block him out!_

"…he was such a great bloke, that Ron Weasley…brave too, but everyone knew that! He was part of the Golden Trio, after all. I just thought that after the war he'd want some peace in his life, you know, but then I heard he became an Auror! Right along side Harry Potter! Those two were always so inseparable…"

The sod! The bloody bleeding git! Hermione was desperately trying to get his attention by punching his chest repeatedly but because she was so weak it looked like she was stroking him. Which, of course, just encouraged Justin enough to grab hold of her hand and continue yapping on.

Oh, this boy! Wasn't it worse enough that she was ruining this stupid dress that she didn't even pay for-hell, didn't even want! But Harry had gotten it for her; spent too much galleons on it, had it sent to her house with a group of stylists that did her hair and make up, didn't even question the fact that she looked like death. He had even hired a sitter for her.

Harry! That's it! She had to find Harry bleeding Potter to get rid of Justin, who was still invading her personal space and therefore making it very hard to breath!

"H-ha…Harry," she rasped out.

"Harry?" Justin asked. "Oh! Harry! Of course!"

He was about to get up,_ thank Merlin_, only he was so loud that Harry must have heard him from wherever he was because suddenly he was pulling Justin Finch-Fletchley away from Hermione.

"What are you doing?" he hissed, careful not to be any louder and bring attention to them. "Don't crowd her, you dolt! You'll make it worse!"

"Wha-make what worse?" Justin asked, fixing his mussed up robes.

Hermione sent Harry a warning look, reminding him not to let slip about her current situation. She just wanted to be alone for a while. Get away from all these people that were so surprised to see her, but so apparently pleased.

Harry studied her expression, hands trailing up her arms to see if she had hurt herself. Seeing that she was somewhat fine, he helped pulled her up, one arm wrapped firmly around her waist.

"Wanna go home?" he whispered.

"Can't," Hermione stuttered. "Speech."

"You can barely speak, love."

Hermione shook her head strongly. She couldn't abandon her people. Tonight was the night where all their hard work, the nights were they worked themselves to the bone until the wee hours of the morning, was finally going to pay off. They expected something from their boss. For so long they had only connected with her through owls and now, now they finally get to hear her say how genuinely proud she was of all of them. They were the reason she even bothered showing up tonight, anyway.

Hermione Granger took a deep breath and shut her eyes, calming and therefore steeling herself. She tried to find the bravado and strength she used to posses inside her during her days at Hogwarts. Always so brave; a Gryffindor true and true.

Back at home, back in between the safety of her sheets, she lay on her backside staring up at the ceiling. Hugo was curled up asleep next to her, and with his face the perfect image of peace, Hermione thought he looked so much like his father.

_Ron…oh, Ron._

She missed him. She had been missing him for the past three years. It still ached, after all this time. It still felt too terrible to be true; as if she was due to wake up any moment now, to see Ron centimeters from her face and saying she had just had a bad dream.

Hugo mumbled something incoherently in his sleep and her attention turned to her only son. Sometimes she thought he was a little lonely, too. He didn't have a father to kick a ball around with in the park or teach him how to ride a broom. Hermione tried her best but with her anxiety attacks, there was just some things she couldn't do for her little boy, no matter how much she tried. Also, there was some things only a father could make a child feel. She knew that, and it pained her to know that Hugo would never know that.

Unless, of course, she remarried. If she found a man who made her sincerely laugh and ignite something inside her so wonderfully the same way Ron had done. A man who would make her feel wanted in a sense that only a lover could. A man who could make her fall in love again.

The yearning was the worse. Hermione was still, after all, only twenty four. A year after Ron's death she had tried to pull herself together to go to Diagon Alley and find someone to be with for the night. Hugo was with Molly and she had gone through everything to make herself completely unrecognizable without having to drink a polyjuice potion. A man had come up to her. She thought he had nice shoulders and the way he smiled was cute. He had a French accent coloring his words and soon they were going the general direction of where Hermione had wanted them to go. They apparated out of the bar and into his flat, where, Hermione thought, he had undressed her too quickly for her taste. The sex was rough and fast and though it left her physically satisfied, she felt like a hole had been drilled into her chest.

She had been so disgusted with herself that night. Her reflection in the mirror showed a different girl-one who was too trashy in Hermione's eyes. Her makeup had been thoroughly smudged and her dress was out of sorts and her hair-well, it looked even messier than it usually did.

After that night, she just didn't want to try anything ever again. Besides, she didn't look like other twenty four year olds. She had bags under her eyes from the stress that kept her awake at night and she had let herself go a little bit, weighing more than she wanted to. Nobody sane would be properly attracted to her.

"Merlin's beard…" Hermione muttered, under her breath. All this thinking was getting out of hand. She was most likely just tired from the events that took place that night.

She decided that she had better go to sleep, before her thoughts wandered over to more triggering images, like how she must look in that ridiculous dress Harry had brought her in all those pictures the reporters took. Hermione supposed that women her age and with similar social status had well recovered and adjusted from the initial insecurity being in the papers all the time gave-one prime example being Lavender Brown-but she hadn't. No, not with that bloody anxiety problem going on.

Hermione closed the book she hadn't been really reading and dropped it by her bedside table, then switched off the light for the night.

On the other side of the world, Draco Malfoy was wondering what in Merlin's beard he was doing. Of course, judging from the groaning and occasionally screaming girl underneath him, he certainly and absolutely knew what he was doing. He, personally, on the other hand, was a little confused, if he was perfectly honest.

He remembered leaving the office and agreeing to a few drinks in a bar in Lang Kwai Fung with Blaise…but how did he end up with this girl? He certainly didn't remember seducing her or any of the sort, and knew that that would have been highly unlikely anyway. Draco didn't bring girls home.

First and foremost because of the leftover Malfoy pride he still had that he suppose would never truly leave him. Draco's apartment was a one bedroom apartment that was embarrassingly bare. He had been using the money he had been earning for more important things than furniture-like food and electricity.

For sleeping, he had a mattress, sheets, a tall stack of blankets for the winter and a couple of pillows. All he had left was the sink, fridge and cupboards in the kitchen that came with the apartment in the first place. The one bedroom he had was turned into a study, where there was stacks upon stacks of books and where Draco's computer was strategically stored. Draco slept outside, where he supposed his "living room" would be, if he had enough money to buy a couch and a telly in the future.

Surprisingly, however, Draco lived in a pricey apartment, taking a considerable amount of money from his pay. He endured the heavy rent for the image. Draco knew that sometimes potential clients liked to look up who exactly they were dealing with and it just wouldn't do to find out that Draco lived in some cheap apartment in the shady part of Hong Kong. The address was a tool for business, but if those clients were to step inside his home, they would be appalled to find it all but bare.

Which was the first reason why Draco didn't bring women home. No women should have to see him living like this. Besides, they would probably think him a liar, living in such conditions after claiming himself a successful businessman working in Central.

The second reason, was that Draco simply didn't have the energy to bring a woman home. Did he not have to be awake at the crack of dawn to review all of his files to make sure every deal and transaction was going accordingly? He checked and double checked bank statements to make sure that he and Blaise were not even a tiny bit close to where they were financially all those years ago, before they left the Wizarding World. Besides, these days, Draco figured he looked too haggard to be even remotely attracting to anybody. Anybody, but apparently, the girl underneath him now.

"What are you doing?" she yelled. "Don't stop! Oh god…please don't stop! Draco!"

_Great, now my neighbors know my name_, Draco thought darkly. Weren't his neighbors families? Oh hell, what if they called someone from the Management Offices up to check on him? How the bloody hell was he going to explain all of this? _Yeah, sorry, I was just having some loud sex with this girl I barely even remember, sorry again._

"Draco!" she screamed again, digging her fingernails in his shoulders, making him jump.

He really needed to stop analyzing right now. Analyzing made him stop moving and she screamed when that happened. Screaming was not good; the neighbors would complain.

So Draco, almost half-heartedly, quickened his pace to get this all over with and leaned in to bury his face in the girl's curly, wild hair.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Harry Potter rested his palms on his knees, eyes shut. His breaths were calm, even. He looked the perfect image of peace; if one did not look too closely. He was, in fact, gripping his knees in desperation. There was a slight tremble coursing through his body and even with eyes shut, a glaring white light was blinding him.

The withdrawal was kicking in.

"Sir?" the driver's hoarse voice cut through the kaleidoscope of thoughts in Harry's head.

His eyes snapped open. "Ye-" his voice faltered, and he cleared his throat. "Yes?"

The driver glanced at him through his rearview mirror. "Everything all right?"

Harry laughed breathily, running a trembling hand through the mess of Raven hair.

"It's all good, mate," he said, keeping the smile on his face. "Just…haven't been in London in a while. Forgot what the city was like."

It wasn't a lie. The noise and the swarms of people around the car had triggered the withdrawal, but it wasn't the absolute truth. His hands unconsciously trailed up to brush the breast of his blazer, where the bottle of whiskey he usually kept was hidden.

It wasn't there now. No, he couldn't risk loosing himself. Not around Hermione and definitely not right now.

"Sir, we have orders to be out of London as quickly as possible," the driver reminded, making sure his tone didn't border on rude.

He needn't worry, Harry was much too concentrated on his thoughts to notice if his driver was being much too forward.

"I'll be fine," Harry said, stepping out of the sleek BMW before he lost his nerve.

He jogged up the steps to Hermione's building, all the while buttoning up his blazer and straightening his tie. He liked to think he hated wearing suits, but he was the only Auror in the Ministry with the balls to wear them and really, he didn't want to give up the title.

He pressed the buzzer and while he waited, mussed his hair up out of habit. He could hear footsteps approaching the door from the other side and he stood up straighter.

An old woman, the housekeeper, answered the door, expression twisted in a permanent scowl and automatically Harry's eyes were drawn to the large ruby earrings that seemed to pull down the woman's ears.

"Oh, it's you," she remarked, looking him over. Harry had thought that she would show him a tad more respect now that he was sporting a charcoal suit from Armani but apparently not. In all honesty, she quite reminded him of his Aunt Petunia.

"Good morning, Mrs. Finch," Harry said, smiling so shortly it was almost sarcastic. "Might a trouble you in calling down Hermione Weasley?"

"I'm not sure if she's awake," Guilda Finch sniffed, lifting her nose up smugly. "Probably tired from being awake all night."

At this she sent a disgusted glare at Harry whose jaw ticked at the remark. He was just about to tell her he was here on official business had no time for such drama when the woman he was looking for herself came walking down the stairs, a little boy with curly ginger hair two steps before her.

"Careful, Hugo, please darling," Hermione called out, as Hugo jumped from the last two steps of the staircase.

"No rough housing, boy!" Guilda snapped, making Hugo's face twist in confusion.

"What did she say?" he asked, turning to look up at Hermione.

Hermione clicked her tongue before picking her son up.

"Mrs. Finch, kindly do not speak to my son that way. He is only four and needs only a little more patience," Hermione said, regarding the old woman.

"I'll speak to your boy however you want Mrs. Weasley, but you can kindly remember that whatever he breaks you can kindly pay for," Guilda remarked. "Here, you have a visitor. It's that boy again."

For the first time Hermione's attention traveled to Harry waiting outside.

"Oh, Harry," she exclaimed. "What a…lovely surprise. I just wasn't expecting you and Hugo's on his way to school."

"I'm sorry to come without telling you," he apologized. "But I really had to see you. Alone. I've got a driver from the Ministry waiting outside and he could take Hugo to school, if you want."

Hermione pursed her lip and shifted Hugo's position on her hip. Hugo was holding on to a clump of her curly hair and staring wide-eyed at Harry.

"Uncle Harry?" he asked his mother.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Erm, yes dear. You're going to ride in a big car to school, okay? Mummy and Uncle Harry need to have a little chat." Then to Harry she nodded and said, "come on then, I want to see for myself who's driving my son to school."

Outside, Harry asked the driver to step out of the car and Hermione's knees almost gave away.

"D'you remember me, 'Mione?" Al Gilbertson asked. He had worked with Ron on a number of his cases and was in fact, in a number of pictures Ron kept in his old study, smiling and waving.

_"There's this great guy at work, love," Ron said. "He's brilliant, he is. Name's Al Gilbertson. D'you mind if invite him over for tea sometime? You'd like him. He's a real genius, just like you."_

Hermione jumped at the feel of someone grasping her shoulder. Harry was peering worriedly at her.

"You all right?" he asked.

"Yes," Hermione said, stepping out of his grasp. She didn't ever want to seem weak in public. "Hello, Al. It's nice to see you again."

They shook hands and Al even jokingly showed her his Ministry ID.

"I'll take good care of him," he promised. "I swear on it."

Then Hermione was waving goodbye to Hugo, who was grinning at the thought of being in a car with "Uncle Harry's friend."

"He'll be fine," Harry told her, as they made their way back in the house.

"He'll be better than that. He's going to be showing off that he got to ride in a shiny black car as soon as he enters the school gates," Hermione said.

On their way up the staircase, they passed Guilda, who naturally sneered at them.

"Try not to be so loud this time," she spat.

Hermione looked absolutely affronted at the remark, but Harry pulled her away, simply calling out to the old housekeeper to have a good day.

"Ooh, that woman!" Hermione griped once they were inside her flat, crossing her arms, offended. "I can't believe she said that!"

Harry leaned against the front door and wrapped one arm around her waist to hold her against him.

"Let it go, Hermione," he said, pushing back her curls behind her ears. "She's a sad old hag who doesn't have anything better to do but hate on the people who live in her building."

"But did you see the way she spoke to Hugo?" Hermione huffed. "She scares the poor boy, I know it. Just the other day, when I asked Hugo to help me with the deliveries from St. Mungo's, he wouldn't even step out of the house without me!"

Harry had started trailing kisses from her chin, up her jaw and to her earlobe when he pulled away at the mention of the delivery from St. Mungo's.

"Your delivery arrived?" he asked. "The one from St. Mungo's with the Healer uniforms? Bloody hell, Hermione, I'd like to see you in a Healer's uniform."

Hermione swatted his arm. "Harry! Those uniforms are here because of the case against St. Mungo's because of the sexist and degrading way the uniforms are designed. Those dress 'uniforms' barely reach past those poor witches' bums!"

Harry grinned crookedly, then pressed Hermione tightly against him so that he could kiss her deeply.

"Exactly," he mumbled against her lips.

"No, Harry."

"But you'll look brilliant in them. Role play, yeah?"

"Harry. No."

"Oh, Hermione! Help me! I was struck so terribly badly by a curse and the only thing that will heal it is if you get _naked_!"

Hermione punched him on the shoulder, but she was smiling. This is why she started this with Harry in the first place. He understood what it was like to have a hole at the center of your being; the feeling of emptiness. When he lost Ginny, he looked exactly the way she did when she lost Ron. Being together, like this, didn't fill the hole, but it made her forget it existed. Even if it was just for a moment.

"Are you here for actual business or was that just you and your magnificent acting skills?" Hermione demanded, but she doubted it. She doubted even the great Harry Potter could get Al to go along with it.

Harry groaned exasperatedly, dropping his head to rest on the crook of Hermione's neck.

"Fine," he mumbled, lips against her skin, making her shiver. He raised his head to look at her. "Always so responsible, aren't you?"

Hermione pulled away from him and stepped into her kitchen. "Tea?"

"Please."

As the kettle boiled, Harry sat across her, and pulled out a picture from his coat pocket.

"We received this two days ago without explanation save for the words behind the picture," he explained. He already looked a lot more haggard, so different from the cheeky expression on his face moments ago.

Hermione slid the picture towards her and when she finally looked at it, her breath caught in her throat. It was a picture of a pale wrist, with a tattoo of an angel inked with red ink. Underneath the angel were the words, 'the virtuous wicked.' Behind the wrist was a lifeless body, a pool of blood underneath it. She pushed it away from herself, disgusted.

"Why are you showing me that?" she demanded, trying to calm her nerves. It wouldn't do to loose herself, even if it was only Harry. To her advantage, the kettle finished boiling and she stood up to make their tea to rid herself of the morbid image.

"Do you recognize the tattoo?" he asked her.

At the accusation, Hermione slammed his cup in front of him, drops of tea spilling unto the mahogany table.

"What does that mean?" she asked, wrapping her arms around herself. "Of course not! What kind of question is that, Harry?"

"Hermione…" Harry said, taking of his glasses to run his hand down his face. "That tattoo is a gang sign for one of the suspects to Ron's murder."

She could feel it now. The fist of air rising up her throat, suffocating her. She collapsed on her seat, feeling like all of her strength was drained from her at the mention of Ron's death.

"I know," she whispered. "I…remember. How could I forget, right?"

The bitter laugh that left her lips made Harry cringe. He hated how he was the one to have to tell her but at the same time he didn't want anyone else to do it. He knew that if it was some other Auror, they wouldn't be so warm, gentle. They would have gotten straight to the point, most likely triggering a panic attack from Hermione.

"We've been dealing with a lot of action from the Red Angels lately. Which is what they call themselves," Harry explained, forcing himself to continue. "At first it was just small things. Petty theft and prostitution. Then we got a call; saying a woman had use the Cruciastus curse on her own husband, under the Imperius curse. Before she was released from the curse, she had carved on the skin of her husband the Red Angels' nickname, 'the virtuous wicked'.

There have been three more cases just like that one. The Ministry doesn't wants to take any chances, Hermione."

"What does that mean?" she asked. "What has all of this have to do with me?"

"The Ministry…" Harry sighed. "They want you and Hugo to leave the country for a while."

"Leave the country?" Hermione repeated. "Are you joking? Harry, you can't expect me to just up and leave at the order of the Ministry. It's not that easy! Hugo just started the new school year!"

"It's for your own safety," Harry argued. "For you and Hugo. The Red Angels are unpredictable. The victims don't have anything in common, except all being female. The Ministry just wants everyone who the Red Angels even know about to disappear for a while. To get out of their reach."

"What you're asking isn't easy, Harry," Hermione said. "What do you want me to do? Leave my job and pull Hugo out of school, just like that? Wouldn't that just raise attention more?"

"Your job is at the Ministry, I think we could figure out a plan," Harry said. "And Hugo is four years old, Hermione. It's not going to raise a lot of attention if he just leaves for a year."

"I don't know, Harry. Where would we even go?" Hermione asked. "The last time we had to leave…It was all right because Hugo was just a boy. You think we could fit back in Spain now? I don't think so."

"You're not being sent to Spain again," Harry said. "They're thinking Hong Kong, this time."

"Hong Kong?" Hermione echoed. "I don't have anywhere to live in Hong Kong! We had a house in Spain. Ron and I saved for that house and the only place I would ever feel safe other than here in London is that house. You can't honestly expect me to bring my child and I to some country where I don't know anyone! I can't do that alone!"

"That's why…they were thinking that you left with me."

Hermione stared at him, not really processing what he was saying.

"What?" she said.

"My dad has a flat in Hong Kong that he bought when it was still under Britain," Harry explained. "I've been a couple times during missions, so I know my way around. We could do it, Hermione."

"I…Hugo isn't ready to find out about us, Harry," Hermione admitted. "I was even thinking that he would never find out."

"I understand, 'Mione, you know I do," Harry said, running his hand through his hair. "The Ministry suggested Asia from the very beginning, something about it being the furthest place we could possibly go. But I'll be honest and say that after Asia was brought to the plate, I volunteered my dad's apartment in Hong Kong. I'm sorry, if that was too forward and overbearing."

Hermione stared at the contents of her cup. The tea had long gone cold over the course of their conversation. She thought that moving all the way to Hong Kong was a challenge, one that would surely stress her and make things much more difficult than it already was in London.

But at the same time, she had to put Hugo first. If his safety was even a little bit compromised, shouldn't it be her responsibility to improve that and bring him to a safer environment?

Now there was the thought of living with Harry to think over. Could she do it? Was she ready? Before whatever was between them now, Harry was her best friend. The one other person in the world who understood what it was like to loose Ron.

Practically, she knew that agreeing to go with Harry would be best. The shelter he was offering was safe because it was his, and it saved her the awkwardness of being with a strange Auror throughout the duration of their stay in Hong Kong. Besides, she had put her life on Harry's hands before and she would do it again.

"All right, Harry," she said, feeling like a new weight was on her to carry once again. "I'll move away with you."


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Harry Potter was trying to catch his breath. He was slick with sweat and his hair was sticking to his forehead. He was tired; his arms slightly quivered as he held himself upright by his forearms. She was so near, every exhale she took fogged up his glasses so that he would see broken images of her in pleasure before his glasses clouded over again. Finally, finally, he sees the expression he has been waiting for: eyes blinking open and mouth widening to cry out. Harry Potter crushes his lips against hers to subdue that cry because they have to be quiet. Always so quiet. Nobody could ever find out that the Boy Who Lived made the Brightest Witch of Her Age scream out in such a way.

At least, that was what Hermione said, anyway. He didn't contest her because he didn't want to risk her walking away from him. He liked having her this close, looking at him that way, moaning his name in his ear. He would do anything to keep her with him.

Still, every now and then he didn't stop her from screaming out. She would be cross with him afterwards, give him the expected lines about the neighbors hearing or just how much his recklessness wouldn't do. He would apologize, say he got lost in the moment and forgot, when really, he had positioned his ear next to her mouth, reached his own peak when she screamed.

_"Harry!"_

It drove him mad, the way she screamed for him.

But tonight he couldn't risk her being even the slightest bit of cross with him. No, Harry needed Hermione to be on his side until the end of the week when they were leaving to Hong Kong.

He knew she was scared. Her kisses had been more urgent and she clung on to him as if she was scared he would disappear into the atmosphere. She needed his comfort and he was there to give it to her and help tuck it away, for nobody to take.

Her nails dig into his back and scrape their way to his behind just then, and he almost looses the remaining strength he had holding himself up.

"Let go in me, Harry," she gasped. "I need you to-_please please please_."

And because tonight is all about her, he does. He collapses, spent, on top of her, his head resting on the crook of her neck. For a moment he wonders if he is hurting her, putting all of his weight on her like this, but she wraps her arms around his shoulders and he relaxes. They lay like this for a while.

"Do you need to pull out?" Hermione asks him, moments later.

Harry nods and when he pulls himself out of her, they both let out a strangled groan. He drops on his back next to her and the bed jumps at the action.

"I'm tired," she yawns. "If you want to go again, wake me up, okay? Wake me up."

She presses kisses on his forehead, nose, cheek and his lips before turning on her side and brings herself to sleep.

For a while, Harry tries to calm his rapid breathing, staring at the ceiling, the walls, out the window. They were not in the master bedroom.

It was an unspoken agreement between himself and Hermione. She didn't bring him there and he never wanted to enter that room again anyway. He wasn't going to sleep with Hermione in the same bed she slept in with Ron.

The arrangement between them had started strangely. Perhaps even funnily. He certainly wouldn't ever forget it.

_September, one year ago_

Harry had come to visit Hermione's, a habit he had formed promptly after Ron's death. He visited once a month, bringing food and flowers, sometimes a little something for Hugo.

He got word that Molly had developed the very same habit, and after a talk with her, it was decided that Hugo was to go home with Molly for a night during those visits and Hermione and Harry would spend some time together; just like when they were younger.

It started innocently. Hugo was all but ecstatic to go with his grandmother, seeing as he saw The Burrow as a magical place. Perhaps it was the knowledge that his father had grown up in the house. That once, his father was the same age as him, and came bounding down the same stairs as he did.

Meanwhile, Harry and Hermione would watch old movies, listen to music of the past, reminisce.

That September, Harry had arrived and Molly was still there. She was usually gone when she arrived, what with Hugo not having a very long patience, but this time the boy was waiting patiently by the telly and Molly was preparing a stew.

"Hallo Molly, Hugo," Harry greeted. "I didn't expect you to still be here. You know you don't have to cook for us, Molly. We can make do, don't tire yourself."

"Oh, hush," Molly had waved off. "It's not all for you, anyhow. Hermione's come down with a cold, dear. Woke up with one of her attacks and just fell ill afterwards. I'm thinking maybe we skip the sleepover this month."

From his peripheral vision, Harry could see Hugo noticeably tense at the notion of skipping his much anticipated sleepover at The Burrow.

"No, you know what that would do to Hugo," Harry said. "I'll take care of her. We'll take it easy today."

"I don't know, Harry," Molly said hesitantly. "I don't really think she's got a cold. I think she might be depressed. Well…more than usual."

"Well, then I'm the perfect person to deal with that. I've got experience with depression, haven't I?" Harry grinned, belatedly realizing that his attempt of humor had backfired.

Molly's shoulders drooped at the mention of her deceased daughter, eyes looking away. The fire at the stove died abruptly.

"Molly-" Harry started.

"No, no." Molly swiped her wrist under her eyes quickly, before grabbing her handbag off the countertop. "You're right. Hugo and I must be going. Take care of her, Harry Potter."

She had disappeared from the fireplace with Hugo in tow so quickly Harry's godson barely had enough time to wave goodbye and for him to protest or apologize.

With an exasperated and somewhat guilty sigh, he left the bouquet of flowers and Chinese takeout on the kitchen counter, deciding he might as well check on Hermione. Every ascending step he took depressed him further, much to his distaste.

Usually, Harry knocked before walking into any of the rooms in Hermione's home yet, on that faithful day, Harry had just turned the knob and walked into Hermione's room.

Her moans stopped him in his tracks. She was lying on her front on the bed, her face buried in one arm. Her pink underwear hung by her knees and other arm was stretched back. Her groans grew steadily louder and constant as she pressed her middle finger deeper inside herself.

Harry stood frozen in his place, both shocked and guilty. Hermione had gradually began to increase her pace and his hands in his pockets turned into fists. He had to leave. His growing arousal was all too obvious.

He turned to leave, but in committing this action, the floorboards beneath him creaked.

Hermione jumped, swiveling quickly around to see where the noise had come from. Her jaw slackened at the sight of him and Harry felt a swell of guilt erupt inside him, which is why it surprised him greatly when it was she who apologized first.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," she had gasped, tears bursting streaming down her cheeks. "God, I'm so so sorry…you must think I look so pathetic… I-I-I-Oh, God…I'm so-"

She had stopped speaking abruptly when Harry had crossed the steps between them and reach out to wipe away her tears.

"It's okay," he said.

She swallowed. "I just…get awfully lonely sometimes and it's so pathetic. I mean, don't you ever miss-"

And he had kissed her right then. Partly because he wanted to and partly because he didn't want her to say Her name. He didn't want to think about what he would do if he heard that name right now, right then.

Hermione reached up to tangle her fingers in his hair and it turned him on to know that those fingers had been inside her. Their kiss deepened and one of Harry's hands left his pockets to grasp her side tenderly.

Hermione let out a squeal suddenly and Harry broke away just far enough to notice her middle finger had returned to the place he had initially found it in. Fervently, he pushed his mouth harder against hers.

This time, it was she who broke away, eyes wide and wild.

"Harry, I want-I want-"

Harry, for the first time since he walked in, realized the room they were in and shook his head.

"Not in here," he said.

She nodded his head and steered him towards the sole guest room in the house. The whole time, Harry was breathing so loudly it should have been embarrassing but all he could think about was how he was seeing his best friend completely naked for the first time and she wasn't protesting.

Once inside the room, Harry pushed her against the door, mouth trailing kisses down her neck.

Then Hermione had grasped his neck and pulled him up so they were face to face and she said, voice low and eyes narrowed.

"Don't leave me now," she said to him.

"Won't dream of it," he replied.

For the rest of the day Harry Potter makes a masterpiece out of Hermione's body. With his fingernails he leaves half moon notches on her shoulders, pink handprints on her behind and bite marks on her collar. In between all of this he swears to fill her completely, whispers how good he's going to make her feel and moans profanities into her ear.

He is not romantic and she does not ask him to be because they know all too well that what they were making was not love.

Her body stirring against him is what wakes him up. She lifts her torso, and the mass of brown curls atop her head bounce almost as much as her breasts.

"Wassa time?" she mumbled, eyes still bleary from sleep.

"Just pass one," he said. "Go back to sleep, love."

Hermione moves closer to his side, arms wrapping around his torso as her legs tangle with his. He wraps an arm around her waist, while the other is bent behind his head.

"But we've only gone twice," she said, voice barely above a whisper.

Harry laughs at this. "Sorry?"

Hermione looks up at him. "Well, no, it's just… it _is_ our wedding night."

Automatically, Harry's eyes dart to the documents of their new identities lying by the bedside table. They were going to Hong Kong as Liam and Grace Harrows, father and mother of Hugo Harrows.

"We don't have to be married," Harry said, for the third time that night. "We can just be siblings, I can go to the Ministry tomorrow and change the-"

Hermione stopped him by pressing her lips to his. "I don't want to argue anymore, Harry."

For a moment, he thinks of a different set of brown eyes and bright, ginger hair. The image sets off a gripping sort of pain in his chest and he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he rasped. "I know you and Hugo were just easing up to things again and I just came and ruined it."

Hermione moved up closer to him, open palms against his chest, making Harry see her and nobody else.

"Stop being so negative, Liam Harrows of Brighton," Hermione said, face only inches from his. "Your wife, the very beautiful Grace Harrows, is trying to stop herself from having another panic attack by having mind blowing sex with you."

The comment is meant to be funny but it is at the same time sad. Harry wraps his arms tighter around Hermione's waist and presses his lips hers once again. It was always this way between him and her-what brought them together in the first place: pleasure through the pain.


End file.
